


There's a Thunder

by deathlybijoumme



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gender Exploration, Multi, Other, Siren!Hilbert, Solar Punk, Urban Fantasy, magical au, mythical creatures, yes hello I am weak for these aus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-01 22:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12713832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlybijoumme/pseuds/deathlybijoumme





	1. Chapter 1

Douglas Fernand Eiffel was supposed to be dead. He knew that, the people who had tried to kill him knew that, hell his own father knew it, but the man currently giving him CPR did not. Douglas Eiffel was, in fact, almost dead for a few minutes before said man had hauled his limp body into shore after unchaining him from a cinder block. That was something his father and the people that tried to kill him didn't know. 

Doug slid in and out of consciousness, dancing the line between blackness and sun, water spilling out of the corners of his mouth. It dribbled down his cheeks, barely leaving any sensation behind it other than movement. He faintly heard someone talking to him, trying to see if he was alright yet. Doug twitched his fingers as he started to cough. 

How the hell was he alive? He tried to lift his head a little, and groaned in pain. His senses were returning to him, and it was not a blessing. His throat and nose were a massive area of pain, and everything else felt like it wasn't quite his. His breath was ragged and desperate, and it hurt. The man had stopped giving him CPR when he’d moved, and was currently questioning him. Doug couldn't comprehend a single thing he was saying, and couldn't even remember how to speak himself. He grabbed the man's wrist weakly, trying to figure out how to tell him anything. 

“Are you alright?” Doug felt vaguely surprised as the words became understandable through the thick fog in his brain, but still struggled with them due to the speaker’s accent. He looked at his rescuer, his eyes not quite able to focus yet. “I said, are you alright? Do you want hospital?” the man asked again. Doug shook his head. “Do you remember who you are?” He nodded, his eyes starting to focus on the man in front of him. “Can you speak?”

Doug took a deep, shaking breath. “M-my name is-” he had to take another breath. His voice sounded horrible- wet and sick, like he had a horrible, runny cold. It was so disgusting, he could barely believe that it was his own. “My name is Doug.” Hard breath. “Doug Eiffel.”

The man nodded and pulled Doug upright into a sitting position. “Doug, do you remember what happened to you?” 

“I drowned.” he got out, his voice quiet. Well, I almost drowned. Doug leaned his head on the man's shoulder, tired. “Who are-?”

“Dmitri.” the man said. “Do you think you can stand on your own?”

“No.” Doug replied honestly. “I can barely sit up.” He started taking in his surroundings. He half expected a stereotypical beach setting- sand, sea, other people looking over in vague concern but not quite giving enough shits to see what was going on.

What he got instead was the sight of a forest that lead itself into the sea, green and near completely isolated from anything made by hands. The only exception to this was a strange house that took cues from the trees, leading partially into the water. It was made of adobe, and had been shaped in soft, organic curves, perfectly reminding Doug of the shape of a beautiful house that seemed like it would have belonged a hundred years ago, both in style and placement.The adobe plaster had been made into different colors and arranged in patterns, making it almost sculptural despite the fact that it was faded in places.

Dmitri noticed his long, spell bound stare and where it was directed. “My family’s house.” 

Doug started in surprise. “Your family?”

Dmitri nodded, slightly flustered. “Was out for a swim when I saw you.” He noticed Doug’s blanched expression and quietly said, “Don’t worry, will not turn you in to whoever tried to kill you if they come by.”

Doug noted that Dmitri seemed to pronounce his B’s a little oddly. “Good.” He leaned away from Dmitri and stretched hesitantly, trying to see if he could support himself yet. He didn’t immediately fall over, so he pushed himself up off the ground and stood up unsteadily. As he did, a woman climbed out of a large, rounded window, the breeze ruffling her small cloud of peroxide curls as she climbed down. Dmitri stood with Doug, staying close while he stood and got his bearings. 

The woman hopped down from a sub roof of the house with an unnerving amount of noise- that is to say, nearly none. “Что происходит?” she asked tiredly, running her hands through her hair. 

“О, не много. Просто потенциальное убийство избегало.” Dmitri replied in the same language, not even having to think especially hard about the switch. 

The woman rolled her eyes and muttered “Dramatic.” before turning her attention towards Doug. “Okay, what factually happened? Fall off a friend’s yacht?”

Doug felt his face and neck heat up. “They weren't my friends and they pushed me off. It was a Solo and Vader situation, not Scar and Mufasa.” The woman raised her eyebrows at him, disbelieving. 

“Olga, they chained him to a cinderblock, and might have given him a concussion.” Dmitri sighed. “I know he looks like an idiot rich boy-” Doug made an undignified noise at that, “-but he's not, am fairly certain that his entire outfit cost him about thirty and his shoes are borrowed, so please reserve the voregeois attitude.” 

“Then why try to kill him? If he isn't rich there isn't much of a point, and is likely not a political adversary due to the not rich thing, so unless he-” 

“Maybe we- as in, you, you rude fuck- should ask him.” Dmitri said. After a moment of glaring, they both turned to him expectantly.

“Well-” Doug wiped his hands on the sides of his pants, trying to think of how to explain himself. “Well, it was… sort of a political thing, yeah. I'm no Kennedy, but honestly I can't think of anything else someone would kill me over.” 

Olga's eyebrows were currently attempting to become astronauts. “I still don't believe you, but I would rather be doing anything else right now.” And with that, she turned on her heel and walked back into the house. 

“Well, she's... nice?” Doug said, combing his fingers through the curls at the back of his head. 

“She hasn't slept at all in two days. Or maybe three.” Dmitri said. He rubbed at his eyes, dislodging his glasses. “She was supposed to at least get a few hours this morning when I left, but she might not have.”

“Oh, well then that's understandable.” Doug said as Dmitri started walking to the house. “Wait, where are you going?”

Dmitri looked at him over his shoulder in a way that told Doug that he thought he was stupid. “Inside.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Doug said, flinging his arms out at his sides and bending at his knees a little. “I have no idea where-”

Dmitri held up a hand to stop him. “I'm not going to expect you to find your way to town on your own, or right now.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Come inside, I’ll check to make sure a concussion and almost drowning are your only problems and get you to town.”

“Which town is town? Cuz I have no idea where I am.” 

Dmitri huffed out a breath and may have rolled his eyes. Doug decided he probably hadn't. “Mertoncrest is the nearest one I think? But I'll likely drop you off in Nishkirk, you seem like you might live there.” 

“What makes you think I live in Nishkirk?” Doug asked as he followed Dmitri to the front steps of the house, which began in the water and had a small floating dock shaped like an L that was moored to it and led onto land. 

“You look like you live in the city, and act like it.” He fast walked over dock. “Dress like it too.” His long black hair was braided back, but even so it nearly brushed the dock as he walked. Doug found himself staring at it. It was weird to see anyone with hair that long, but it seemed especially weird on someone who lived in a place like this, yet at the same time seemed to fit in perfectly.

“How do you dress like you live in the city? That doesn't even make any sense.” Doug picked up his pace and walked up the steps after him. 

“Wear shoes that are obviously a size too big, scuffed, and have several pieces of gum stuck on the underside, for one thing.” Dmitri replied, his grin almost… skeletal… somehow. Doug ignored the thought and walked across the threshold of the house. As he walked in, he immediately felt a few people stare at him, and he found himself staring at the house around him in return. 

The front area of the house was elevated from the actual floor, with a ramp leading down to it. To the said of the ramp were two room like areas, one being a living room covered in pillows and blankets that was currently occupied by four women, ranging from middle aged to their mid 30s. They'd been drawing designs on each others hands and feet with small tubes of paste, and they hid them from Doug’s sight, almost appearing guilty. Doug felt his face redden and heat up again, and he turned away. He instead studied the other one as he walked, it appearing to be a slightly more formal parlor like area, with several chairs arranged around it. It was also covered in dust. 

He kept walking after Dmitri down the main… pathway? It was like a hallway without hemming in with walls, so he supposed that was the most accurate description. He carefully edged away from a large pool cut into the floor that seemed to lead under a room he hadn’t seen yet and outside, and around a large, blocky structure with several openings and a chimney that resembled an oven. Olga was busying herself around it, checking on something inside even so often. She raised an eyebrow at Doug again and her gaze followed him, full of suspicion, but elected to ignore them in favor of her cooking. Now that she was closer, Doug could see the dark circles under her eyes that indicated a pretty bad lack of sleep. He heard the chatter in the front room return between the four women he'd seen earlier.

Dmitri yanked out a stool and gestured for him to sit while pulling a first aid kit down from a shelf that had been shaped out of the wall. He pulled on a pair of medical gloves and grabbed a stethoscope. He looped the stethoscope over his shoulders for easy access and set about gently examining the spot on Doug’s head that had begun to swell from where he'd been hit on the yacht.

He really should have known better than to trust that someone actually wanted to talk to him about what O.M.R. was doing and how they could help. He was an informant and a communications monkey, no more, no less. No one would talk to him about something so serious if they actually meant to, and what with other people in the information business going missing, it really should have set off some kind of warning bell in his head. 

As Doug mentally scolded himself for being stupid, Dmitri stopped examining his bump, satisfied that it was just bruising and swelling and not something worse, took note of the cut hidden partially in Doug’s hair, and started examining Doug’s wrists for injuries. He found none, but did stare at the small spots on Doug’s wrists that had appeared to crack apart and reveal magma underneath. Doug noticed him looking at it and sheepishly tucked his arm into his lap. 

“That, uh, that happens when I get nervous.” he said. There were similar points extending from the corners of his eyes to down and over his cheeks now, in addition to a small blush over his face. Olga looked at him over Dmitri's shoulder and waggled her eyebrows, making some kind of joke that Doug didn't quite get.

Dmitri nodded slowly as he put the stethoscope in his ears and placed the cold metal on Doug’s chest. “You are part Lumarkos, I presume?”

“Yeah.” Doug said, hanging his head. Dmitri nodded again, checking his back. 

“You need to go to the hospital.” Dmitri said quietly after a long pause as he started examining Doug’s ankles. No magma there, but some scrapes and bruising. “You might have had your core temperature dropped too low, or starved off your-”

Doug sighed, raising his head and interrupting him. “Hospitals are for people with health insurance or money. Unfortunately, I'm not in rich supply of either.” 

Olga mouthed ‘Eat the Rich’ to him and checked on her food again. Doug found himself smiling faintly at that.

Dmitri looked up at him. “How do you not have health insurance?” He looked honestly confused and more than a little upset. It was kind of cute, seeing him mad at a tiny injustice like that, Doug thought. “That… that can't be legal.”

“It is, that bill got vetoed. I don't have health insurance because my job is terrible and I'm bad at reading contracts.” Doug chose not to elaborate. “Anything else you need to do? ‘Cuz I'm itching to get back to my apartment and nap.”

“Not anything I can do at the moment.You might want to stay away from activities involving bright lights and heavy physical activity.” Dmitri looked at him, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head slightly. “If you come by the Micarloni Center tomorrow around 3, I can arrange for something more extensive.” 

“The what now?” Doug asked him, his brow furrowing in clear confusion.

“The Micarloni Center. The place on the outskirts of Nishkirk, does a lot of charity work funded by the guilty and rich. I work there on Wednesdays.” Dmitri got to his feet, brushing off the knees of his loose pants, which Doug noticed gathered around his calves quite nicely. Doug wouldn't mind asking said calves out in a date. 

Nice to know I've recovered enough from almost dying to appreciate nice legs again, he thought to himself. “I can try to do that? No promises though, I have more work on my plate than Scrooge McDuck has money in his vaults.” 

Dmitri squinted at him as he put away his first aid kit. “Was not aware McDuck was a last name.” 

Doug laughed, thinking he was kidding when he noticed Olga slowly shaking her head and Dmitri still looking bewildered. “Do…” Doug trailed off. “Do you actually not know about Duck Tales?”

Dmitri's still confused expression told him everything he needed to know.

“How.” Doug quietly said, putting his head in his hands. “How do you… how do you honestly, actually not know what Duck Tales is? Or Scrooge McDuck?”

“He avoids most TV like it's plague.” Olga piped up. “Is kind of funny really.” She chuckled to herself as Dmitri rolled his eyes and groaned. 

“Is no point to most television. Is all just bland, dramatic nonsense with some violence thrown in.” he grumbled. 

“I thought you liked Cutthroat Kitchen.” Olga said, grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat. 

“You can like garbage sometimes. Especially when that garbage is kind of garbage that should technically be recyclable.” Dmitri fired back, peeling off the medical gloves and throwing them in a wastebasket.

Olga held up her hands in quiet surrender, still laughing a little. “All right, all right.” she said. “Don't get all worked up over it.” 

Dmitri huffed crankily at her. “I am borrowing the car.” He grabbed Doug’s arm and dragged him outside, briefly stopping to grab a key from a hook by the door and closing it behind them. Down and around the dock again. Around the house, with the sound of slightly wet debris crunching underfoot accompanying them. 

Dmitri unlocked the driver's side door first, then popped the lock for the passenger, gesturing for Doug to get in. Doug did, and Dmitri started the car, driving along a barely visible path that lead out of the woods. 

Dmitri fiddled with the dials on the radio for a second before finding a nonstatic station that was playing music in a language that Doug didn't know. It didn't sound like the one he'd spoken earlier, with his… sister? That was probably who she was, given the closeness and familiarity with which she acted. This language relied more on vowels, and had less hard sounds. It had an internal rhythm that reminded Doug of when he visited his mother's house in the winter and sat out on the porch, staring at the water in the distance and ice pricking at his bare fingers like needles. The nostalgia was painfully raw, and he felt tears prick his eyes. 

He felt a hand touch his shoulder, and looked over. Dmitri had dutifully kept his eyes on the road, but he'd apparently noticed Doug’s distress and had started rubbing gentle circles into Doug’s shoulder. Doug sighed and leaned against the window. 

“Thanks.” Doug said after a long silence between the two of them as they began to enter where the woods thinned and the road became clearer.

“What for?” Dmitri asked.

“Saving my stupid ass.” 

Dmitri stopped the car and looked over at him, his brows furrowing in confusion. “There is no need to thank me. Letting you drown is something a monster would do.” 

Doug smiled. “Ah, the irony.”

Dmitri's face flushed and he looked away. “I… I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know. I was making a joke.” Doug leaned against the window. 

“Ah.” Dmitri started driving again. They both sat in awkward silence as the road and trees passed by. Dmitri started singing to himself along with the radio. A few minutes later, Doug fell asleep in the car, the steady rhythm of movement and Dmitri's half audible molten-honey voice conspiring to lull him into sweet unconsciousness.


	2. Untrustworthy

A few weeks later, Dmitri was out for a swim again. The appointment with Douglas had gone well, and fortunately, the man was fine now.

He sighed and let the current carry him. He liked swimming in the bay, away from the cities. It was safe here. There was no judgement from anyone, Human or Aanuor’naa. He smiled faintly, closed his eyes, and let himself think.

If he'd been paying a bit more attention about an hour or so later, he might have noticed the shadow of a person pass over him. Or the net sinking through the water. Or even the small school of fish nearby swimming away as fast as possible from it. As it was, he did not, and the net fell on him.

Dmitri's eyes opened as he struggled frantically in the net, surprised that it caught him this thoroughly so fast. He noticed movement behind him and his pulse raced a little, unable to quite see what or who it was. He felt someone grab him and he felt his pulse go even faster.

Someone had caught him. Trapped him. This net wasn't some careless error by an asshole fisherman- it was intentional. He thrashed in the person's grip, feeling his lungs burn at a sudden exposure to air. He was thrown down on the deck of a boat and shoved, sending him sliding away from the water. Dmitri scrambled to start untangling himself, and found himself cursing his long hair, and his choice not to tie it up today.

The person climbed up onto the deck as well, shaking the water out of his damp brown hair. He pushed it back from his face and unsheathed a knife from his thigh. Dmitri froze, his heart beating so fast that he couldn't even feel the individual beats anymore. It was like trying to see the wings of a hummingbird.

The man held up his hands placatingly. “Calm down. I'm just going to cut you loose.” He kneeled next to Dmitri and started sawing away at the net. Dmitri watched him intently, waiting as his heartbeat steadied.

As he cut, the knife dug into Dmitri's leg and left a deep cut on his thigh. Dmitri hissed, clutching at his thigh, and kicked the man in the face. Dmitri's foot collided with his nose, and the man went sprawling, dropping his knife. Dmitri scrambled out of the net, the half done hack job making it easier to shake off. He grabbed the knife and started backing towards the ladder, and the water.

“Wait!” The man yelled, his hand cupped over his nose. “I didn't mean to cut you.”

Dmitri hesitated, already calf deep in the water. “And why should that matter to me?” Dmitri didn't really believe him, and it showed in his voice.

“Because if you go into the water and try to swim for shore, you're going to bleed out, or worse.” The man rose. “Let me help you.”

Dmitri eyed him suspiciously. He was a stranger, but he was right. Dmitri could already feel more blood than he was comfortable with leaving his body. The man took a step towards him and Dmitri raised the knife. The man held up his hands.

“Who are you? Give me a name.” Dmitri demanded. A name, even a fake one, might be useful.

“Warren.” The man said, taking another step.

“A full name.” Dmitri said. He kept the knife up and pointed at the man- Warren, apparently.

“Warren James Kepler.” Warren said, frustration tingeing his voice. “Just let me bandage your leg. Then you can go and do whatever the hell you want.”

Dmitri frowned at him. “I have better idea: give me first aid kit, I will bandage myself, and then I will go.” He sat on the edge of the deck, clutching the knife tightly. Warren frowned right back, but then left, presumably to get the first aid kit. Dmitri relaxed slightly and finally took the time to look at the cut on his thigh.

The cut itself was a clean diagonal line over his thigh, and it bled steadily. Dmitri poked the skin around it gently, and hissed in pain. It was deep. Shit. It would be a pain to get home. He looked at where he knew his shore was. It was a little too distant for his taste, the trees blending together and no sign of his home. He hoped he hadn't drifted too far south. He looked around to be sure that he still was a ways away from Tyaro, and let out a sigh of relief when there was no sight of the stilt city. While it would be easier to get back home from there, he didn't feel like dealing with the staring and whispers, especially while bleeding.

Warren tromped up the stairs, first aid kit in hand. “Here.” He handed the kit to Dmitri and sat next to him, waiting.

Dmitri stared at him in confusion for a few seconds. “What?”

“You need stitches.” Warren said.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Am-going-to-state-obvious-things. I can handle that myself.” Dmitri popped open the kit and got out the disinfectant and a gauze pad. He cleaned up the blood, then started searching through the box for other supplies. He didn't find any local anesthetic, and was starting to get a little irritable over the fact that it seemed there wasn't a suture packet either when Warren reached in the kit and pulled one out from under some band-aids.

“I really do think it would be better if you let me stitch you up.” he said, holding the packet just a little out of Dmitri's immediate reach. “And hell, maybe you could let me get you to shore too.”

“I can handle it-” Dmitri cut himself off with a wince as Warren pinched and pulled at the skin on his thigh.

“Yeah, no, you can't. You'll definitely get an infection, and probably ass out and drown before you get home, or attract a predator.” Warren continued pulling at his skin. “Let me help you. I won't hurt you anymore than I have too, I promise.”

“Fine.” Dmitri sighed in relief when Warren stopped pinching him. Warren ripped open the suture packet and abruptly started stitching up the cut on Dmitri's thigh. Dmitri gasped in pain and gripped at the railing next to him. Warren ignored him and continued stitching up his leg, his stitches uneven and sloppy. Warren handed Dmitri a roll of bandages and started ignoring him.

He pulled a gate over the gap in railing where the ladder was and locked it. Warren then made a grab for the knife, but Dmitri got it first and tucked the knife in his shirt. Warren’s eyebrow twitched. He got up, pressing his hand down on Dmitri’s leg and Dmitri whimpered in pain.

“Oh, sorry about that. Forgot.” Warren smiled, but it didn’t quite look apologetic. Dmitri felt the vague temptation to shove him overboard.

Dmitri wrapped the bandages around his thigh, watching Warren warily as he fucked off and started dicking around in helm. Dmitri got up once he was confident his bandages were secure, and started looking around to get a feel for his surroundings.

The boat itself was an ostentatious combination of a traditional yacht and more modern megayacht. It looked so expensive that Dmitri felt like if he touched something an alarm would go off, a hitman would appear, and then that hitman would kill him. In spite, he stormed inside to the bar area, grabbed a monogrammed shot glass, and violently threw it in the trash. No hitman.

He grabbed another shot glass, noticing that this one had Warren’s initials as well as an odd logo, and threw that one in the trash too. He found a few napkins and three those in the trash too to muffle the noise in hopes that they'd throw the bag out without noticing the unbroken glasses inside it.

Dmitri took a deep breath and looked around to see if anything or anyone else saw him. No one. No visible security cameras either, which put him on edge. He continued wandering around inside, seeing that logo from the shot glass repeated around the boat consistently. Dmitri found a pen and drew a rough copy of it on his hand to look up later. It was a simple intertwined G and F, in a Deco-like silver font. He put the pen in his pants pocket and kept it.

He continued his wandering around the boat and didn't throw anything else in the trash, but did hide a bunch of random objects under various pieces of heavy furniture. Eventually he bumped into Warren, who had apparently been looking for him.

“Have you been having fun?” Warren asked, a friendly warmth in his voice that immediately put Dmitri on edge again.

“Not especially.” Dmitri comforted himself with the fact that he had a knife, and it looked like Warren didn't. “Shouldn't you be at helm?”

“Nah, we have an auto steering system.” Warren took a few steps forwards. “I figured since apparently it'll be awhile before we get to shore, I should apologize for earlier.”

“About which thing? You stabbing me in leg, or hurting my leg again to coerce me into agreeing with you, or you hurting my leg yet again for fun?” Dmitri crossed his arms and glared at Warren. “Or maybe all three of those?”

Warren looked a little shocked before chuckling to himself. “All three. The cutting your leg open part was an unfortunate accident, my knife slipped on the rope, and the other two times I realize we're a bit… rude of me.” He sidled up to Dmitri and put his arm around his shoulders. “The first time was me testing to see if you would be able to swim as far as you'd have to, and the second was also a genuine accident. I'm really sorry about all of this.”

Dmitri sighed. He was starting to believe him. Terrific, it's not like that could bite him in the ass later. “I accept your apology.” he said with no clear emotion showing in his voice.

“Let me make up to you.” Warren said, sensing his displeasure. “We've got plenty of time and there's a lot to do here.” Dmitri may have been imagining it, but he thought he Warren’s voice lowered a bit somewhere in that sentence.

“What do you have in mind?” Dmitri asked him.

\---------

“You know, it'd really be best if I took you directly home.” Warren, unlike Dmitri, had only gotten slightly tipsy. He had pulled Dmitri down into his seat and kept him there via an arm around his waist. Occasionally, he'd sip a little bit of whiskey out of a monogrammed glass specifically made for that purpose.

“I don’ think that is good idea.” Dmitri's speech was badly slurred. He pushed at Warren’s arm for the third time and this time, Warren let go of his waist. Dmitri moved his seat to the armrest.

“I know that I don't know you that well, but you're quite drunk.” Warren frowned. “I'd feel terrible if something bad happened to you.”

“Well…” Dmitri considered it. “I mean I guess you're right.”

“Mhm.” Warren played with Dmitri's hair. “I would think that'd be the case.”

Dmitri noticed Warren messing with his hair and knocked his hand away, his features twisting in discomfort. “Don't.”

“Sorry.” Warren held his hands up, pretending to be sheepish. “Your hair is just so lovely.”

Dmitri sat up a little at the compliment. He nervously twisted a lock of some of his prematurely gray hair in his hand. “It looks better when I dye streaks black.” he muttered.

“Oh, I think the gray streaks makes you look stunning.” Warren grinned wolfishly. “Like a little piece of stormy night sky.” Dmitri preened a little more at the compliment. Warren grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into his lap. “You know, it'd be nice if you told me where you lived now so that we wouldn't get lost.”

Dmitri leaned against the armrest. “I don't really know where it is from here.” He knew that wasn't what Warren asked, but even in a drunken state, he wasn't stupid enough to tell him his address.

Warren frowned harshly. “That's not what I asked.” His voice had a harsh edge in it now.

Dmitri frowned, doing his best to imitate his sister Ivelina when she wants to get away with something. “Isn't it? I'm quite tired.”

After nearly a half hour of trying to pry Dmitri's address out of the man, Warren gave up. “Fine. If you die while walking home, that's your problem. I was just trying to be nice.” He stood and stormed off to another area of the yacht.

Dmitri sighed and relaxed. He probably shouldn't have gotten drunk. Actually, he wasn't sure how he'd gotten drunk. He could've sworn he didn't even have more than two glasses of a slightly alcoholic Arnold Palmer. Maybe he'd messed up the amount of sherry he was supposed to use. He stood shakily and walked across the room to get a glass of water and sit on the deck. The cold air might help him sober up.

He sipped the water as he stared out at the waves. They were nearly at shore now- he must've been drinking for longer than he thought. Strange, but not too unusual for him- stronger alcohol warped his perception of time quite a bit.

Warren sat next to him a few minutes later. “I apologize for exploding at you earlier.” he said, sulking. “I'm just worried.”

That set off an alarm bell in Dmitri's head, and he sipped water to avoid answering for a few seconds. “Thanks.”

“Would you at least call me once you get home? So I know you're alright?” Warren looked at him with concern.

Dmitri sighed. “Sure. I'll c-” he pressed his hand to his forehead as a spell of dizziness came over him. “Ugh.” He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the cool glass of water to his forehead.

“You okay?” Warren asked him.

“Yes. Just little dizzy.” Dmitri stood and realized that the dizziness had been caused by the boat bumping into a dock. “Oh. Shore.” Without a second thought, Dmitri put the glass down and slid down the ladder, hopping from it to the dock and just barely making it. “I'll call!” he said, not sure if he actually would, and bolted into the desolate woods.

He stumbled through them, this path being vaguely familiar from when he used to run off and get drunk with his friends as a teenager. It was lucky that Warren happened to use that particular dock.

He sighed and wished Yuliana was there. She remembered the path that they used the best. He kept walking, until he came across Gennadi’s house. A knock on the door and a some shuffling later, his old childhood friend peeked their head out from behind their partially closed door. At the sight of Dmitri, drunk, injured, and very tired, Gennadi opened the door all the way and directed him to the sofa.

Dmitri sang a small thank you in Aarun, fell on the sofa, and promptly passed out.

  When he woke the next morning, his sister was sitting across from him, her face stony and absolutely pissed.

  "You said you were done with drinking." She said accusingly.

 

  "I say lots of things." Dmitri said, groaning. "Besides, I didn't even drink that much. I just a cup of sherry at most."

 

  "Then why did Gennadi say you couldn't you walk in a straight line last night?" Olga stomped her foot on the ground. "Dammit Dmitri! You said you were getting better."

 

  Dmitri shoved his face into a pillow. "People say lots of things. And I _am_ getting better. This is first time in months you have heard I was drunk, yes?"

 

  Olga glared at him. "To my knowledge this is the first time in months." she spat and stomped out of the house. Dmitri huffed and shoved his face even deeper into the pillow. He'd deal with his sister later. When he had less of a headache.


End file.
